


Spin Cycle

by BigGhost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 09:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10409340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigGhost/pseuds/BigGhost
Summary: Jesse McCree had been going to the laundromat every weekend since he was 17.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I did this mostly at work don't tell

Jesse McCree had been going to the laundromat every weekend since he was 17.

 

He was just a punk caught, yet again, running with the local hell raisers.  He was to be sent to prison.

 

That's when Gabe stepped in.

 

Gabriel Reyes, local Officer Bad Cop and former military.  Fought in the Omnic Crisis way back when, apparently, but he never talked about it.  “Top secret shit,” he called it.  Rumors around town say that he was part of the super secret black ops missions and would go missing if he talked about it.  Jesse would be lying if he said he knew the truth.

 

Eventually, Reyes retired and became an officer in Jesse's hometown.  He was on a raid on Deadlock, the brains of Jesse's little gang that conducted everything they did.  Their gang was only a piece but one piece less is less for the police to worry about.

 

Jesse would have rotted in prison with the rest of them if Gabe hadn't gotten him to squeal about Deadlock’s secrets.

 

So, Jesse got off with heavy community service and a no-choice name change to protect him from any remaining Deadlocks that would come for him.  He became Jesse McCree (which Gabe let him pick out) when he turned 17, Gabe took him in, and they moved shortly after.

 

Their apartment was shit.  No heat, no functioning door locks, and no electricity for almost 6 months.

 

And he loved it.

 

Gabe wasn’t exactly turned off by it either.  He looked around the shitty, dank apartment and said, “Best get to work, kid.  It'll work out.”

 

And it did.  Gabe and Jesse grilled over a fire before they had electricity, and kept coolers of ice for their food.  Gabe worked in the sheriff's office where he met a Mr. Jack Morrison from his military days.  Gabe never said anything but Jesse was pretty sure they had dated.

 

Jesse did his best to help out, working off and on in different places.  He considered being an officer but with his background, there was no way they would let him into the academy.

 

Eventually he came across a job in a horse center.  Not very glamorous.  He was the shit-shoveler.  The grain carrier.  The hose man.  But it was a good job.  Paid well and his boss, a giant of a man that shouted everything he said (though something told Jesse he didn't realize he was shouting), was fair and kind.  He enjoyed it.

 

Soon, Gabe started a tradition.  Every weekend they would gather their dirty clothes and their quarters and go to the laundromat to wash them.  Jesse met good people there, like an Egyptian girl named Fareeha and her mother (who had apparently known Gabe in their younger days, small world).  They were also the owners of the place and welcomed Jesse and Gabe every time they came in.  Fareeha even gave him a key for his birthday so he could come in when he wanted.

 

Going to the laundromat became a tradition that Jesse looked forward to.  They never bought a new washing machine for the apartment.

* * *

 

Jesse was 35 when it was raining and he let himself into the laundromat.  He shivered and locked the door behind him, and he knew Fareeha laughed before he heard it.  “Caught in the rain, Jesse?  I thought cowboys were supposed to endure hardship?” she teased.

 

“Pretty sure that's a knight, first of all, and second of all, cowboys are in the desert,” he stated, remembering the Clint Eastwood movies he and Gabe used to watch when they both had free time, and their significantly desert-like settings.

 

He stripped his soaked shirts and jacket, left in a slightly damp pair of brown denim pants, and threw it into the drier with his laundry load he had stuffed in the back of his truck.  He'd meant to be there earlier but got caught up at work.

 

He still worked with the horses, the good, the bad, and the ugly.  He went from lowly shit-shoveler to cool shit-shoveler.

 

(It was the hat, the hat made it cooler.)

 

…  

 

Okay, untrue.

 

He had been promoted.  Many times, in fact.  Mostly he got to ride the horses around the trails, and he got to teach kids how to ride.  He loved his job, and eventually, with his serape and hat, he became known as the town's cowboy.

 

He still shoveled shit but only if he  _ really _ wanted to.

 

He whipped out a cigarette and a lighter, flicking it to life and puffing the smoke away from Fareeha as she approached.  She popped a couple quarters in and set the dryer on.  She and Jesse had a barter system, of sorts.  She paid for his laundry, he bought her a McDonald's breakfast plate on his way to work, which would later be burned in the pits of cardio hell when she went and sweat at the gym for hours.

 

She looked down and held her stare for a long time, just below Jesse's happy trail.  “What the fuck, McCree,” she said as she flicked his BAMF belt buckle.

 

Jesse laughed from his belly, “It's funny!”

 

She rolled her eyes and he knew that it was ugly as sin, but he liked the stupid thing.

 

“I'm going upstairs, try not to break anything!” she yelled as she trudged up the stairs to her house on the second floor.  She had taken over the place when she'd gotten back from the military, after her mother had retired and disappeared into Egypt.

 

“Disappearing” meaning she was happily living in a beautiful beach house where no one would bother her.  Fareeha described her as “gone without a trace” but Jesse knew she still called her weekly to gossip in Arabic.

 

Jesse spent all of two and a half minutes alone before he heard knocking at the glass doors.  He whipped around so hard he almost gave himself whiplash.  Upon seeing the sopping wet man on the other side, he dashed to help him.

 

He couldn't unlock the door fast enough, some of the downpour coming in as he ushered the man inside.  “Come on, get you outta the tsunami,” he mumbled around his cigarette.  The stranger shuffled inside, shivering and shying his face away from Jesse.

 

The cold, wet wind was shut out when Jesse locked the glass doors again.

 

“The hell brings you out here in a storm like this?  Ain’t no time o’ night to be out runnin’ around,” Jesse half scolded.  He blew a puff of smoke out of his way as the stranger meandered around the room.

 

Finally he saw his face in the light.

 

He was gorgeous, for lack of better word.  An angular face that brought a sort of sternness to his visage.

 

Or, as Gabe would call it, resting bitch face.

 

His jet black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, showing off the large undercut, tied with a long yellowish sash that brushed against his back.  His clothes were soaked and shiny from the rain and a part of Jesse, deep, deep down, wished that he wasn’t wearing so many clothes.

 

“Shufflin’ like you got ants in your pants.  C’mon, take off those wet clothes and throw ‘em in the dryer with mine.”

 

The man seemed hesitant at first, but eventually he zipped down his jacket, then his button down shirt, then the A-shirt beneath.  They flopped sadly into the dryer with Jesse’s clothes and Jesse restarted the cycle.

 

Jesse heard the man climb on top of the washer and sit down, a position he was familiar with since that’s how he spent most of his time when he was here.  Surprisingly, the washers made for a good resting spot.

 

He took in the stranger on display like a fucking statue.  He was...breath taking.  Jesse hoped he wasn’t drooling.  Muscles bulged from under his skin, his entire left pec and arm decorated with intricate designs of a long, blue tattoo of a...dragon?  Yeah, a dragon.  It was fierce and made Jesse a little hot under the collar.

 

He was shredded.  For fuck’s sake.  Jesse wanted the man to bench press him.  He might be able to.

 

Jesse hoped he was able to.

 

It made him a little self conscious.  He was fit.  Pretty solid other than the little soft gut above his belt.  But not nearly the godly body of the stranger.

 

The man was looking about the room uncomfortably, like he was expecting Jesse to attack him.  He shivered and it was a sudden reminder that the man was naked and soaked.  Jesse pulled his serape from it's spot on the back of the chair and he thanked his past self for having enough sense to at least Febreeze it.

 

“Name’s McCree, but you can call me Jesse,” he winked as he threw the serape over the man's broad shoulders.  He wasn't sure if the responding expression on the man’s face was embarrassment for himself or Jesse.

 

Jesse chuckled.  His blush was cute.

 

“My kinda man,” Jesse mumbled as he hoisted himself onto a machine across from the man, pulling with him an ash tray Fareeha kept spread around the shop.  Mostly for Jesse.  “Fareeha always says not to sit up here, but she does it, too, and I won't tell if you won't.”

 

The man didn't laugh but he didn't give Jesse a nasty look either.

 

“Hanzo,” the man said almost too quietly, and held Jesse's eye contact when he looked at him questioningly.  “My name is Hanzo.”

 

Jesse felt like he was buffering.  He processed that the man had finally spoke and also introduced himself for a little too long.   The rain mocked his stupid silence with hard taps on the windows

 

(Five seconds.)

 

He hit him with his infamous debonair smile as apology.  “Well that's a lovely name.”  The man showed a ghost of a smile but quickly put it away again.  A ghost was all Jesse needed.

 

They talked.  They talked about why Hanzo was out in the rain.  He'd just come to town, apparently, and got caught in the storm just as he got off the bus.  They talked about why Jesse was out in such a storm.  “Poor time management, mostly,” he said.

 

Jesse learned that Hanzo was moving in with his brother not too far from here.  He learned that they had a somewhat shit apartment, just like he and Gabe had been saddled with many years ago.  He invited him to do laundry with him on the weekends.

 

They talked about anything they thought of.  Jesse even got the man to smile a few times.  

 

The rain lightened up when Hanzo smiled.

 

They talked until the dryer beeped.  Jesse was the one to jump off of his perch and pull out the warm, dry clothes.  “All toasty now.”

 

Jesse and Hanzo redressed and it reminded Jesse of the awkward after-sex redressing rituals with strangers.  Except this was nicer.  Hanzo was a comfort.

 

Jesse was buttoning up his shirt when Hanzo held out his serape to him.  He looked between it and Hanzo and laughed.  He pushed it back towards Hanzo.  “Use it.  It might start raining again.  You can bring it back to me on laundry day.”

 

Hanzo looked confused at first but accepted it.  “All right.  Laundry day then.”

 

Jesse gathered his clothes and bag and led them out the door where it was only a drizzle.  It was still dark and the street lamps were their only guides.  “So laundry day.  It's a date,” Jesse confirmed.  Hanzo pulled the serape tightly around him.  He nodded and held out his hand.  When Jesse just stared at it.m, Hanzo (affectionately?) rolled his eyes at him.  He swiped the phone from Jesse’s back pocket and quickly darted his thumb across the screen.  He returned it screen facing up.

 

_ Hanzo  _ with a little dragon emoji apparently received a text from Jesse that only said, “I am the cute cowboy.”

 

It was Jesse's turn to blush.

 

Hanzo smiled at him and waved his own smartphone at him before turning on his heel and walking off into the dark.

 

Jesse recovered slowly from the flustered feeling in his gut.  He climbed into his truck and rubbed over his face with his hands and laughed.

 

Hanzo met with him that weekend for laundry.  And the weekend after.  And a date or two after.

  
Hanzo and Jesse had been going to the laundromat since about a month ago.  They never bought a new machine for Hanzo’s apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> McCree is weak for tattooed muscle men
> 
> http://dilfosaur.tumblr.com/post/158445452803
> 
> Check out the art that inspired this piece! The full picture is available in dilfosaur's mchanzo fanzine!


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